Sometimes, I just want to be a poem instead of a poet.
I want to not feel so much of the pain, to feel enough joy.
To not wear so many masks. To not bear so much of all of of these, even the realm of dreams doesn't feel like a place to escape anymore. Just another routine. Just another mundane thing that is always seems so fleeting to be called a safe haven.
Not being covered with so much scars. Literally and figuratively.
I want to be able to fill the void, but how? Isn't that the question? How can I do that? Is it meant to be filled with something or is it supposed to be filled by a person? But how can I fill the space that meant to be for someone that is no longer here? (Am I even allowed? I don't think I'll allow myself to fill it)
I want to be able to choose the right one, to be able to reverse my destructive-self.
I keep seeking answer, yet never able to find it. In the good days, I thought i need to be here so that i can go on to the place where everything will be clear. But some days I thought I was looking at the wrong places, and/or I might have missed it, too busy looking for it but not really seeing it.
Sometimes, when the days slowly turns rather solemn, the months slowly becoming somber once again, wishing for someone that's no longer here and the someone that was never here to be here, I wish I was a poem. I want to be showered with words that feel like the warmth of the sun. With words that gives comfort. With words that sounded like the falling leaves, that sounded like rain in the night. With words that made me sigh, the kind of sigh that will make the world trembles. With words that can relief the pain right here, right now.
I keep wanting something that seems to be in front of me yet so far away. So out of reach. One of the few is wanting to be a poem instead of a poet. And i'm not even that: a poet.
All this wishful thinking is screwing with my head.
And tonight, I don't think I'm okay. I don't think it's okay, because it's not. It's not. It's not okay.